


Breathe

by sryr



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Anxiety Attacks, Blow Jobs, Daddy Kink, Established Relationship, Face-Fucking, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, PWP, Praise Kink, Spanking, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-30 21:55:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19412179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sryr/pseuds/sryr
Summary: Dad walks Dave through an anxiety attack and offers a distraction.





	Breathe

**Author's Note:**

> i fell back into homestuck in 2019 and the lack of dad/dave content has been killing me. i have been trying to write things for weeks and spontaneously popped this out today so??? for the maybe 10 of you potentially still out there, this is for you. 
> 
> (this is established and so some details are skimmed over. i may have thought about them a little, but didn't care to try and squeeze it in but if something is killing you to know feel free to ask! also as for the Dave/David inconsistencies Dad only calls him David when he's scolding him, but normally calls him Dave)

You can’t remember the first time you had an anxiety attack, but distantly your earliest one has you hunched up over your knees, feet planted on your middle school’s third floor bathroom. Why you thought that was a good place to have your freak out, future you cannot fathom. It couldn’t have been the first, but it’s what you remember and that fear is mostly because for maybe the first time you have the thought you don’t want to go home.

The term for it isn’t even something you knew then, just that your body wouldn’t stop shaking and futilely you kept slamming your hand down on one of your knees in the hope it’d stop the tremors in your legs and the stinging behind your eyelids. There wasn’t anything even particularly scary to expect—just the same shit as always, but you were starting to have a perspective you hadn’t prior. It’s stupid, but in that moment you wanted John’s dad more than anyone because he wouldn’t tell you your tears were bullshit and it was becoming so easy at times to just pretend he was your dad instead.

He wasn’t though, and it’s with that thought that your body finally gives in and decides it’s done because it and you are tired and you have to go home.

That time may have been one of your firsts, but it isn’t your last and it’s with an internal laugh that you find yourself in a far different situation when this one hits you.

You’re safe here. You know these walls and you know these hands and it’s nothing like how your childhood home was, but still even now you have things that can’t ever seem to leave you.

It was an accident and you’re not even sure why it bothered you as much as it did. Maybe it’s because you were remembering all that old nonsense that didn’t matter. Maybe it’s because you really might never move past it. Needless to say, you’re zoning out while Mr. Egbert finishes cleaning up after breakfast and despite the finesse he seems to have in navigating a kitchen, everyone has accidents and without meaning to the pan he was trying to wash goes careening into the sink loudly colliding with some pieces of silverware that were already soaking.

Your first instinct should be to see if he’s okay—it’s not a normal occurrence for him to do something like that as it was his son that was the clumsier of the two, but it’s the abrupt screech of cast iron on butter knife that stupidly has you gripping the table, bracing for a hit that would never come.

Vaguely, you hear him turn to apologize, likely for the noise and his own surprise towards his abrupt bout of clumsiness, but you aren’t listening. The room feels hotter than it did earlier and you feel ashamed even further for recoiling from the hand he places on your shoulder in what you think is an effort to ask if you’re alright. The back of your neck is prickling as is your shoulders and really it was the last possible place he could have touched you that had any chance of making you feel better.

What feels like longer than it probably was later, he’s pulled a chair from the other side of the table over and he’s trying to get your attention.

“Dave, can you hear me?”

You think you nod. Seeing as he reacted, you must have managed it.

“Good, can you take a breath for me?”

You try. Your chest feels tighter than you realized. His presence encourages you to try again. And again.

As you tune back into what’s going on around you, it registers his comforting voice was counting them out for you and when you have that to focus on, it feels a bit easier to breathe. 

Hesitantly, he goes to reach for your hand, but pauses and rethinks it.

“Would you like my hand?” He instead asks and you find yourself just as shyly nodding again. Now that you were winding down it’s embarrassing how something so minor got to you. He doesn’t say anything about it or even act like you did anything wrong. He never does and even though you know that somewhere a part of you still distantly worries he’s going to call you an idiot for it.

After another minute of him mindlessly rubbing a thumb along the back of your hand, he says something you don’t catch.

“Would you like to talk about it?” He repeats when you ask him to, but the thought of it and what memories go along with it make you want to clamp your mouth shut. There were things he already knew about your living situation as a child as well as your Bro that were enough for him to show his disdain. He didn’t need to know the specifics of how deeply damaged the man made you feel.

“No I… I don’t want to think about it.”

“Okay, would you like me to distract you then?” He offers and as you manage to face him and process his smile, it occurs to you what he’s actually saying. It does exactly what it’s supposed to though as almost immediately all you can imagine instead is whatever it is he has in mind for you and it’s equally embarrassing how the anticipation alone sends an excited shiver down your spine.

“Please, please, fuck,” You start and bite your lip just as quickly when the reprimanding stare he gives you for cussing only makes your jeans feel all the more tighter.

“ _David_ ,” He warns, knowing he didn’t even need to say anything to get his point across. He just wanted to say the incorrect approximation of your name and you love hearing him say it like that.

“Go upstairs and get ready for me. You’re only to get ready, don’t touch yourself otherwise,” He commands, but with the gentle way he squeezes your hand before releasing it you’re reminded he’s not actually angry with you. That’s just part of the game you guys play.

“Yes, Daddy,” you breathe before all but shooting up and stiffly walking out the saloon doors. You want to run because you’re feeling the excitement get to you, but he doesn’t like it when you run in the house in general and if he’s playing up punishing you, you want to play up following his rules so he’ll call you a good boy.

Only faintly do you hear the water come back on as you hit the stairs and it’s because you’re here that you allow the tiny smile to settle on your face as he’d been waiting for you to leave before starting again. His room for as embarrassingly average as it could be for a business man, is comforting for how easily you’ve found yourself at home in it. You’d even made fun of him for it before, but just like everything else in the house he’d simply countered that everything had a proper place and that’s all he was doing in regards to owning a tie rack of all things. In a way, it had its own charm simply because you had only ever known the rat’s nest that was your Bro’s apartment where you think everything was supposed to be messy on purpose, but you never really understood why. It was mostly just a pain in the ass. Sometimes you think Bro was just fucking with you and a lazy enough asshole to try and make his slovenly behavior seem reasonable and cool even. It makes you irritated sometimes that the line of thinking actually used to work, but now you preferred the clean order that was the Egbert household.

You kick the thought out of your mind because you’re trying not to think about him right now and there are more important things at hand. It can't take Mr. Egbert that much longer to finish the dishes and you don’t even have your pants off. With that in mind you shuck them off and hesitate again because at least part of the train of thought you had earlier was relevant. Even though you’re eager already, you take the extra moment to loosely fold your clothes up before still leaving them on the floor only because you’re just as eager for him to see you mean well and want to soak up his praise. He doesn’t hold affection over your head and you love that and love him.

Once everything's in order, the rest comes just as familiar. You let yourself get comfortable in his bed and pop open the cap of the lube that’s inserted its place in the nightstand. It’s not as hard as you thought it’d be to follow his orders as you’re more focused on opening yourself up, but that’s largely because you’re already distracted with possibilities. You’d prefer it was his hands on you, but it’s okay because they will be soon enough.

Just as you’re working a second finger in do you hear the door open and find your face heating up even more at the way he’s looking at you. Even though he started things with the intention of making you regret swearing, it’s clear almost immediately how much he just wants to coddle you. It’s probably just as clear that you want that too. As much as you want him to rough you up and want to play more into that bad boy acting up routine you made up, right now you want to be held and told everything’s okay. He can call you a bad kid and spank you some other time.

He looks between you unabashedly pleading for him with your eyes and the pile of clothes as neat as you could make them on the floor and the atmosphere shifts. He still takes his time getting undressed—he always does—and it’s within that time that you’ve managed to fit another finger in trying to focus on stretching yourself more than getting yourself off because even if he meant it as a punishment, you still want to do a good job.

It’s getting more difficult though because it does feel good and you’re so glad to feel his hand on your thigh because that means he’s done and you want to be fucked so badly. You’re shaking for an entirely different reason than earlier and feel warm as he chuckles against your cheek. Apparently, you’d been begging again.

“I’m here,” he answers and you’re taking what fingers you had in out and reaching to wrap your arms around his neck. The way he lifts you isn’t surprising anymore, but it makes you feel small in a good way every time he does. Like you’re the pretty little boy he calls you even though you haven’t been a boy in a long time. What matters is you’re his and you know you’re safe in his arms because for as much as you like to drive him to strike you, he’d never actually hurt you and it’s that strength that he could hurt you, but doesn’t that’s so attractive.

“Did you touch yourself beyond what I told you?” He asks as he settles you both on the edge of the bed, you cradled in his lap. Annoyingly, as he asks you that suddenly all you want to do is jerk yourself off, but you’re trying to be a good boy and so you nod because you didn’t and you aren’t going to until he lets you. Or does it himself, which is a thing your horny distracted brain just remembered was a possibility as you feel his hand solidly on your hip.

“Good, good,” Mr. Egbert tells you finally bringing a hand to slowly stroke you gentle enough to be encouraging, but not enough to really satisfy anything. In an effort to not actually fuck his hand like you want, you more or less shuffle around on his lap which only has you remember he needs a little longer than you do. Even though he hasn’t said you could and you haven’t asked, one of your hands finds its way to his dick anyway. It’s always a little addicting how good it feels to feel it get bigger in your hands knowing he was getting hard because of you.

As much as you love being in his lap—and plan to be again in a few minutes—you untangle yourself, slipping onto the floor and between his legs. It’s obvious what you want to do and while he wasn’t expecting it initially, you’re finding it difficult to wait for him to tell you what he wants you to do as usual. Thankfully, he’s letting you have your way like he usually does and within seconds one of his hands is in your hair, petting it fondly.

“I wanna’ suck you off,” you say, letting your head rest on his thigh as he continues petting you. You suppose your words are question-like in that you’re waiting for him to more or less say you can even though you didn’t word it like that. His fingers trace down the side of your face until they’re caressing the bottom of your lip. On habit, your tongue moves to greet his thumb.

“Your mouth is filthy enough as is, so I suppose you can,” he jokes, indulging you for an extra moment before moving his fingers just under your jaw, guiding you the last few feet to his cock. You’d tease him right back, but his words elicit a moan from you that only grows as you try to relax your jaw and take what you can in. The intake of breath and quickening of his pulse that you more feel than hear is enough encouragement. How could you possibly tease him when he’d do anything you wanted? Even when he does tease you, he makes you _want_ to be teased that it hardly even feels like a punishment.

It feels good to know you’re the one making him hard like this and it’s moments like these where you love that you can pour all those feelings you struggle to articulate or show into action. You love him for being there for you. That he’s always in some way done so and for all that he does for you, even if it’s only in this manner, you want to do something back.

You lead the dance at first, but the more you drag him into it, those fingers you felt on your jaw move their way back up to your hair. Without even needing to speak, your eyes meet his and he can tell exactly what you want. You’ve done this enough times that he knows you can take it—knows exactly how to tell what’s you adjusting as opposed to pushing past a limit and you practically melt as his hips start to move just a little. You moan again half because it’s hard not to and half because you’re trying to show him it’s alright. It works because soon enough he’s going just a bit faster and while it’s a little difficult for you to keep up you love it and want so badly for him to keep going.

For a moment, you get too into it that when he’s trying to pull you off his dick there’s a protest on your tongue that’s quickly forgotten as soon as the ache in your jaw as well as his expression registers. Normally, it’s you begging for it, but it’s so easy to read him now that you’re not surprised in the slightest when he’s gently rubbing your cheek again, thumb wiping away stray drool.

“Are you ready for me?” He asks and you practically keen.

“Yes, yes please fuck, I wanna’ ride you Daddy,” You ramble, voice embarrassingly hoarse, made worse by the fact he has that look again because of course you drop another swear in without thinking. He doesn’t even need to tell you to climb back into his lap as within seconds you’re scrambling up, probably faster than you should, to straddle his waist. He cups your ass, rubbing one of the cheeks before suddenly bringing an open palm down on it. You’d been expecting it because you know that was him warning you, but a yelp escapes you nonetheless. It feels good though and you’re so needy for his hands on you and him to be in you that the action has you rutting against his stomach. He gives the opposite cheek a smack as well and you cry out again.

“I thought I told you not to talk like that,” he scolds, giving you a breather before giving you another spank, “And not to touch yourself.”

“I’m sorry,” you babble, enjoying the sting as you weren’t sure you wanted this at the beginning, but suddenly now you really do because he’s still holding you and it still feels good.

“Are you really?” He asks back, a brief flit of amusement barely there in the question. The both of you know your potty mouth isn’t going to ever really change. Still, he rubs your ass again and the action spurs a dull ache that you can’t tell if you want more of or not. He unwinds you from clinging to his chest enough to mouth at your neck and you gasp as he bites.

“Yes, yes I’ll be good. I want you please, please fuc—” You start, crying out again almost immediately as his hand comes back down because in your haze you’d already forgotten what you were saying and thoughtlessly begging him to fuck you. You can’t say you regret it though as it’s enough to finally let loose some of the lingering negativity from earlier and he’s kissing your face now and holding you what feels even closer. He hasn’t said it out loud, but you know one of the other reasons he goes along with playing with you like this is because on some level he knows you need it. If you can’t get the words out despite how much bullshit spews from your mouth on the daily and you can’t let yourself feel catharsis from crying the normal way, this has to be it and you’re glad for it.

“Do you really want to be my good boy David?” He repeats between gentle presses of lips across your face. Eager for contact and mindless from arousal you can only really nod-nuzzle into his affection until you’re chasing his mouth and kissing him hard and needy. He’s back to stroking your cheek, urging you to slow down and follow him as while this kiss feels good you know he likes to take his time and is always telling you to do the same. So you do because you’re trying to listen now even if you just want him to pound you into next week.

“Let’s try again,” he says, murmuring the words against your mouth. “Are you ready for me?”

You nod again, not trusting yourself to not say something obscene. He reaches over for the forgotten bottle of lube left on the bedside table, taking care to make sure he's the one ready for you now and finally rewards you by leading you down and onto his cock in a slow and careful pace. It’d be so easy to force yourself down and go as quick and harsh as you want, but after that number he just did on your ass and with how tender he’s being you want this more than anything. Every touch has your nerves singing and it’s so, so clear how much he loves you. It’s pathetic, but you want to cry again just from that feeling alone and despite that thought echoing in your head from the beatings that ingrained it in you, there’s no need to be afraid here—so you let yourself.

“Oh, Dave,” he says noticing your tears returning and there he is kissing you again. It’s safe here, you repeat to yourself. You can cry here.

Faintly, you realize he said something and process a moment later that he thought you were crying because it hurt. After shaking your head to confirm it didn’t, you aren’t sure how to articulate _why_ you’re crying because it feels a little ridiculous. This isn’t the first time you’ve broken down like this, but at least you usually have some reason on your side like if he’s been spanking you or holding you from coming. Crying just because he was holding you and being sweet hasn’t been a thing that was capable of getting to you since around when you first started doing this.

Taking the initiative and to distract yourself from it, you lift your hips and start riding him even if because of how you’re being held the thrusts are still pretty shallow. You want him to know you’re okay. That you want this and him and that you love him so much that it makes you feel like this. The words come out slightly garbled, but you think you manage to say some of that pressed against him and with that he’s holding your hips again and helping you get a steadier pace.

Suddenly, it’s so easy to say the things you tend to hold back. The voice in your head goes shockingly quiet and it’s because everything feels so good that you’re crying out all the things you want to say, but can only show. Your throat still feels raw and it’s making some of your words crack, but with the scarlet scrawling across Mr. Egbert’s face you don’t care. The only thing that cuts off your nonsense is when he shifts enough that your prostate is getting hit on every thrust and you realize how close you actually are. He must figure it out too, but you’re quick to slap his hand away when he tries to touch your weeping cock because if he does you’ll lose it.

“With you, with you, I wanna— _please_ ,” you beg and practically feel how the romantic in him is pleased by your patience. Even though it takes him a little longer to get started, it’s clear he’s been enjoying himself. He doesn’t last much longer and it’s only through sheer willpower that you manage to last long enough for him to finish, coming a minute later when he finally touches you.

Like all the times before it, your post orgasm haze has you uselessly clinging to him as he laughs fondly. You know there’s a sticky mess between you that’s going to only get grosser the more it’s ignored, same with the mess in your ass, but all your tired brain wants to do is curl up in his lap and go to sleep. Still, he carefully removes himself from you and maneuvers you back onto the bed. You must doze off in the couple minutes it takes for him to go to the bathroom and back because you don’t really register his presence until a damp cloth is wiping your stomach.

When he’s in close enough range, you’re reaching for him to come lay down with you to which he only sighs fondly.

“Dave, the day has barely started. I did have chores I wanted to do.”

“Great, that’s the perfect time for a nap. Our daddy dom sex contract specifically said I get post sex cuddles and you being a business man know that it’d be rude to break that binding. My friend’s a lawyer, I’ll sue,” you argue, knowing at least with how thoroughly wrecked you feel emotionally and physically there’s no way you’re getting up and you intend on collecting the cuddles owed. He gives you another exasperated look, shaking his head laughing all the while. You voice must sound like shit.

Either way, he heads over to the dresser taking out another set of pajamas and underwear and gathers up the used towel before leaving the room once more. You feel smug as he comes back and only fiddles with the alarm clock on the nightstand for a few moments before indulging you once again with the quiet acquiescent that a nap couldn’t hurt. 

**Author's Note:**

> i feel like i missed tagging a couple things so if there's anything you thought i should have feel free to mention it! ty for reading!


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